


Outlaws

by Silent_So_Long



Category: Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid (1969), Supernatural
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Western, Community: spn_reversebang, Gen, Western
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-22
Updated: 2011-11-22
Packaged: 2017-10-26 10:49:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/282185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silent_So_Long/pseuds/Silent_So_Long
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The adventures of Butch Winchester and his trusty sidekick, Castiel the Sundance Kid</p>
            </blockquote>





	Outlaws

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2011 round of spn_reversebang.
> 
>  **Art Prompt Title:**[Untitled](http://pics.livejournal.com/spnreversemod/pic/0003fg34/g58)  
>  **Art link:**[Art Masterlist](http://alwaysawkward.livejournal.com/206246.html)  
>  **Prompt Number:** 3012  
>  **Artist:**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  **Fic Title:** [Outlaws](http://metallikirk.livejournal.com/84848.html)  
>  **Author:**  
>  **Fandom/Genre:** Supernatural/Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid fusion. Action. Western-ish  
>  **Pairing(s):** None. It's a gen story.  
>  **Rating:** PG-13  
>  **Word Count:** 4838 words  
>  **Warnings:** Cowboy related violence? XD

Dean Winchester, also known as the outlaw Butch Winchester, sat astride his horse, jaw clenching with impatience. He squinted across the plains of Wyoming, wind whipping at his stocky form and threatening to whirl his hat from his head. He took one hand from the horse’s reins and jammed the hat back on impatiently, sighing and wiping the sand from his eyes after the hat was firmly back in place. The horse shifted incessantly beneath him, whickering softly and batting at flies that buzzed against her ears and eyes, tail swishing to keep them from her flanks.

Beside Dean, sat Castiel Novak, also known to the law-makers as the Sundance Kid. Unlike Dean, Castiel seemed unfazed by the wind or the sand that blew in his face, blue eyes narrowed, the only concession he made to any discomfort. His slender form fitted easily into the saddle, dark suit hugging his form over his pale shirt. Despite the heat, he was still wearing his long tan coat, ignoring every single one of Dean’s pleas to leave it off for once, before the ride across the plains. Unlike Dean and the rest of the Hole in the Wall Gang, Castiel wasn’t fazed by either heat or cold, wearing the same outfit no matter the temperature. He remained just as smartly dressed as always, just as Dean himself was. To look at them, one would think they were fine, upstanding citizens, instead of the outlaws that they actually were.

Far off into the distance, came the sounds of a steam train, chugging engines and occasional bleat of the horn the only sounds echoing over the Wyoming plains around them. But for the cattle and horses that moved far off into the distance, small blots against the horizon, the only movement was the train itself and the shifting horses that directly surrounded Butch and Sundance. Vague coughs and murmurs sounded occasionally, from various members of their little posse.

Castiel shifted slightly, the only movement he’d made for a considerable time. He glanced towards his partner, waiting for the signal from Dean. Although both outlaws were crack-shots and impressive fighters, Castiel was the ideas man, while Dean was definitely the action man. They worked well together, spurring the rest of the Hole in the Wall Gang into action.

Despite the effectiveness of their leadership, they still sensed the dissension in the ranks, mutterings and disloyalty aimed against them from the other posse members. This dissension was spearheaded in large part by one Anthony Crowley, who fancied himself as the next leader of the gang in Butch and Sundance’s place. Dean and Castiel themselves knew they would rather die than let Crowley run the show. Crowley was known for his double deals and his treachery. They didn’t call him the King of the Crossroads for nothing; quite often his deals were brokered at crossroads, where the land was clear all around with no chance of being captured or surprised by marauding law-makers.

Dean was pulled out of his thoughts by the blare of the train’s horn and the sound of its wheels clattering against the rails beneath its lumbering body. The train was nearer, belching great fat white clouds into the air. Dean nodded to Castiel, mere seconds before they sprung into action. The horses, already ready to run seemed to fly across the plains, sandy ground rolling beneath their feet as scrubby bushes whizzed past. Behind them, the thumping hoof beats of the Hole in the Wall gang beat behind Butch and Sundance, sending a thrumming cadence all around them. They drew alongside the train, pacing its chugging progress as they whooped and hollered in triumph; all was going to plan. The train was on time, they’d reached it successfully and it seemed as though they would board in timely manner.

Dean was the first, swinging one leg over the back of his horse, jamming his heels into one stirrup as he poised himself for the jump. Castiel waited, blue eyes ever watchful of his partner, intense gaze tracking the flight of Dean’s body through the air as Dean jumped for the train. Dean rolled in through the open door, hitting the floor with a hefty thump, before Castiel himself appeared directly beside him. He helped Dean to his feet, before they made their way through the train, to the lattermost carriage, where the money was kept. Passengers kept out of their way, ladies in their dignified dresses and sun-hats screaming at the sight of two grinning outlaws, guns drawn and glinting in the light, ready for trouble. The train conductor tried to stop their progress, and ended up with a bullet to the knee-cap, direct from Dean himself. Dean watched the progress of the man to the moving shifting floor of the train with a sense of consternation.

“Stop your hollering, it’s not like I freaking killed you,” he said, shaking his head at the conductor, who seemed intent on screaming and rolling about the carriage floor.

“Dean,” Castiel said, tapping his partner on the shoulder and jerking his head to the left.

One of the male passengers was attempting to give Butch the bum-rush, yet he was destined never to reach Dean. Castiel’s slender arm whipped out, pads of his fingers connecting with the man’s forehead, dropping the running man where he stood. The man collapsed upon the ground in an insensate heap, before the duo moved on. They could hear sounds of fighting and gunfire behind them, as the rest of the Hole in the Wall gang engaged various passengers in a fight, both for the need to fight and also to divert attention away from what the joint team of Butch and Sundance were doing.

It didn’t take long for Castiel to see the safe nestled in the corner of the rear carriage, nestled in amongst steamer trunks and battered leather cases. He tapped Dean on the arm and nodded towards the safe silently, watching as the other man made his way through the swaying piles of luggage to kneel before the safe itself.

Castiel watched as Dean removed his hat and placed it beside him, hair sticking out in odd bunches where it had been hidden beneath the hat for too long. Dean’s long clever fingers clicked at the safe’s dial, eyes narrowed as he concentrated. When the safe proved too hard to crack, Dean nodded silently to Castiel, who quickly took his place at the safe. The outlaw known as Sundance attached bundles of explosives to the sides of the safe, before both men took refuge behind a nearby steamer trunk. Castiel shielded Dean from the blast, covering Dean’s body protectively as money and debris scattered all around them. The side of the train, when they looked, had been blown clean away, scattering wads of cash all along the Wyoming scrub outside, soon left behind by the motion of the train. Dean looked at Castiel, Castiel looked back at Dean, both men expressionless in their disbelief.

“I think you used too much explosives, there, Sundance,” Dean said, sounding none too impressed by his partner‘s mistake.

“I know. I was only supposed to blow the door off,” Castiel growled back, looking disgusted by the current turn of events. “Perhaps the situation isn’t as bad as it appears.”

Dean grunted, but didn’t immediately reply. Instead, he motioned his partner forward, soon following in Castiel‘s wake. Their heavy boots scraped over blasted bank notes and scattered coins to survey the damage rendered to the safe. Dean knelt down first, Castiel an ever present watcher at his back, as the other outlaw fingered the blasted, hot remnants of the safe’s cracked-open door. Castiel watched as Dean leant in, fingers scrabbling for purchase inside the safe’s interior. Dean made a sudden noise of triumph when his seeking fingers shored up against a hard surface in the darkened depths of the safe. He pulled forth an ingot of pure gold and a small velveteen bag, pouchy with hidden treasures. Dean tipped open the small bag, soon revealing the contents to be diamonds, and emeralds. Castiel watched as Dean turned his grin up to him, green eyes sparkling with triumph.

“You see, this, Sundance? We’re rich,” Dean said, triumph as clear in his tone as in his eyes, his expression.

“We should share it out,” Castiel commented, although there was an inkling of doubt to his tone.

“Aw, hell, no, Cas,” Dean protested, in disgust. “After all the trouble they’ve caused us the past few days alone? Nah, these are ours alone. Property of Butch and Sundance.”

“I think not, darling,” Crowley’s English-accented tones came from the doorway behind them. “Considering the fact that you’ve lost most of the money to the four Wyoming winds, I think you owe us all a bit of the old dough, mate. I ain’t falling for that one, and neither will the boys. What d‘you think I am? A muppet?”

Dean mouthed - muppet - at Castiel, who merely shrugged askance back at him. Dean stood, hands raised as though in submission, before he tipped a sudden nod towards Castiel. The other man grabbed Dean around the waist and blinked them out of the carriage, transporting back outside to where they’d left their horses. Castiel was the first to attain the saddle, plucking the reins from where they rested against the horse’s broad neck as Dean swung easily into his own saddle. As one, they turned their horses about and spurred them on, deep into the wilds of Wyoming, whooping and yelling as they went.

~*~*~*~

After Dean and Castiel had run from the scene of the train robbery, leaving Crowley and the rest of their posse in their wake, they’d headed for one of their many safe houses. They’d decided on the long, hard gallop to the house’s door, to pack up and leave for New York, with the intention of heading to Bolivia via steam boat.

That had been Castiel’s idea, figuring that Bolivia would be the last place Crowley would think of to look. If ever Crowley did put the search out for them in Bolivia, Butch and Sundance would be a long distant memory, identities and appearances changed, with Bolivia long since left in their dust. Dean, having no other ideas of his own that would be as effective as Castiel’s, decided to go along for the ride. He knew that Castiel’s plans were usually foolproof, even though Dean himself never said so to Castiel’s face. Castiel nodded at Dean’s acceptance of the idea, surprised that the other man hadn’t tried to argue against the idea at first, another favourite trick of Dean’s. He supposed, however, that they didn’t have the time to argue, for fear of wasting precious time.

~*~*~*~

“So, how long d’you think it’ll be until Crowley turns up with the rest of the posse?” Dean asked, downing another shot of bourbon and calling from another.

A busty lady sashayed over with Dean’s order, and Castiel looked as uncomfortable as he ever did. Dean wondered at Castiel sometimes, and why he had chosen the life of an outlaw. Sure, he was good at it, and was one of the best, even rivalling Dean himself, who considered himself the best damn outlaw in the whole of Wyoming.

Dean remembered, then, the time that they’d first met, some four years into their shared past. Dean had shored up in a town called Perdition, and gotten himself into some pretty dire trouble at the hands of the local criminal, a shady fellow going by the sole name of Alastair. Alastair had had a penchant for a straight razor, often torturing those he captured just for the sheer hell of it. Dean had inadvertently gotten himself trapped by Alastair while drunk. Although not scared - really, Butch Winchester never got scared - he still had to admit to himself, that he was in need of a new pair of trousers after his life had been imperilled.

Castiel had waded in, as though from nowhere, to drag Dean out of there, while a bolt of lightning decimated the building with Alastair still inside. Dean, although grateful for the assistance, had not shown his gratitude; instead, he’d chosen to berate Castiel until the other man gave what scant answers he was willing to give. It seemed as though Castiel was some kind of an angel, disgraced from Heaven and hiding out in the Wild West until things cooled down for him at home. It seemed as though he’d done some things his elders didn’t approve of, hence the self imposed exile. Dean didn’t care about the particulars, having had enough of troublesome families of his own. His mom had died in a house fire when he was young, his father had then turned into a man hell-bent on taking his revenge on the man who’d killed his wife, while Sam, Dean’s brother, had distanced himself from the whole family and was now working as some kind of a law-man in California. Dean had always thought it ironic that at least one of them had turned out right in the end.

“Cas?” Dean prompted, when Castiel didn’t reply to Dean’s earlier question.

Sometimes, Castiel didn’t talk very much, too lost in his own thoughts that Dean couldn’t penetrate, and in those instances, Dean felt as though he didn’t know the other man very well at all. Sometimes, when Castiel was feeling particularly uneasy, he shut up tighter than the proverbial clam.

“I think Crowley is on his way, Dean,” Castiel replied, suddenly. “He’s very close, in fact.”

“That right? How d’you know this stuff anyway?” Dean asked, for it hadn’t been the first time that Castiel had simply known things he shouldn’t have done.

“I am an angel, Dean,” Castiel reminded him, blandly. “I may be exiled from Heaven, but I still am an agent of Fate all the same. I just know things.”

“Delivered from the mouth of the Host, no doubt,” Dean snorted, with a roll of his eyes.

“Something like that. Angels are somewhat akin to a shared group consciousness. Even though I am barred from Heaven, things still leak through to me,” Castiel said, primly, pointedly ignoring the woman who served the next round of drinks.

The only concession that he made that he even knew that she was even there, was the fact that his eyes, already large, widened to almost comical proportions. His body didn’t relax until she had gone, not paying the tense Castiel any attention whatsoever. Dean assumed that she saw all manner of strange behaviour in her daily life ordinarily. He could definitely drink to that, and so he did.

~*~*~*~

The duo continued to work their way east heading for New York, while hoping to hide out from Crowley and the wrath of the Hole in the Wall Gang in the meantime. Through their extended network of contacts, and Castiel’s link to angel radio, as Dean referred to it as, they ascertained that Crowley was still hot on their trail.

Across the plains of Wyoming and the dusty towns they passed through, they began to see signs of the Hole in the Wall Gang catching up with them. They saw one or two members of their posse filtering through at a time, easily picked off with shotguns and pistols, sometimes even a hastily thrown knife direct from Castiel’s slender hand. After a few days of near misses and picking off the members of their former posse, Castiel and Dean had no choice but to assume that only Crowley was now left.

 

They were destined never to reach as far as New York, however. In fact they were destined to not get further than the next state - South Dakota. They were holed up in the ranch that belonged to one of their closest associates - Robert Singer, too old now to ride in the saddle with them. That was his choice, not by theirs, Bobby was always hasty to add, whether anyone asked or not.

It was evening when they rode up to Bobby’s front door, house surrounded by acres of pasture and ranch-land, horses aplenty everywhere they looked. Bobby would always say that he had plenty of horse power to spare if ever Dean and Castiel ever needed it, also offering them a place to stay when things got rough. He also did research for them, hunting up jobs for them, and getting the lay of the land wherever the next robbery happened to be. How he managed to find out so much information, neither Dean nor Castiel ever found out. All they knew was when they headed into the Singer Pinto Yard, there was information about yet another train heist, and yet another bank job and nothing more than that.

Such was the case when they rode up and unsaddled before Bobby’s place that night.

~*~*~*~

“Got another job for you two idjits,” Bobby said, with barely a glance up when the two outlaws shambled in from the outside.

“Perhaps now is not a good time, Bobby,” Dean replied, with a hasty glance towards Castiel beside him.

Castiel typically remained silent, and also standing, while Dean slouched easily upon Bobby’s couch.

“What’s wrong with you, boy?” Bobby asked, finally looking up to pin Dean with a sharp look. “Are ya an outlaw or aint’ ya? I’ve never known Butch Winchester to willingly turn down a job.”

“Like Dean said, now is not the most opportune time,” Castiel told Bobby, quietly.

He’d settled himself upon the back of the couch that Dean was sitting upon, slender hands resting on his knees as he did so. Bobby narrowed his eyes at the couple before he sighed heavily, broad shoulders rising and falling quite dramatically with that one gesture. His eyes remained narrowed as Dean related the details of the last train robbery they committed, and the wild fleeing escape from Wyoming they’d had to endure.

“Crowley’s headed here, ain’t he?” Bobby asked, looking from Dean to Castiel, sharply.

“It is quite likely that he will appear, yes,” Castiel said, quietly, from his position behind where Dean sat.

“You’d better get moving on that bank robbery I’ve got lined up for you, then,” Bobby said, sharply. “You need all the money you can get before you even hit New York, let alone Bolivia.”

Dean exchanged a glance with Castiel, and it didn’t take long for Castiel’s head to dip in a long slow nod of thoughtful assent. He knew as well as Dean did that Bobby had made a very valid point. Bobby waited for noises of either disapproval or dissent, yet received none, especially not from the usual source - Dean. He sighed and rolled out the appropriate blueprints and plans and detailed what he wanted them to do.

~*~*~*~

Dean kept his head down, face shaded by the brim of his hat as he strolled through the sparse town of Sioux Falls. Castiel was padding closely beside him, head also lowered, yet his bright blue eyes scanned the street ahead of them with keen interest. Dean knew that Castiel was scanning for potential danger, of perhaps Crowley laying in wait. He still hissed an order at the other man to keep his head more bowed, in case they were spotted. Castiel shrugged as though it was of little consequence to him, yet tilted his head forward all the same.

They stopped across the road from the bank, eyes scanning its surface, and the traffic that frequented the establishment through its heavy wooden doors. The clientele was moderate, yet obviously reasonably wealthy judging by their clothing. Dean’s green eyes squinted in concentration, trying to see how many bankers were darkened interior. They were at too great a distance to be able to see, and the interior too dark after the glare of the sun to tell.

“What d’you think?” he said, quietly to Castiel beside him. “Think it’s worth the risk?”

“Why not? Like Bobby said, it’d be like one last job before we disappear,” Castiel said.

“You say that every time. Every job is like our last,” Dean smiled.

Castiel typically didn’t respond. Instead, he continued watching the flow of pedestrians into the bank, mentally calculating the risks, losses, gains they could achieve while attempting this. Dean nudged him, before saying - “You think we should get closer? Might help with whatever plans you’re hatching there.”

“Yes, Dean. I think that would be wise,” Castiel replied, with a single nod of his head, chin dipping down once with that one slow motion.

Dean nodded, back, all too used to Castiel’s spare movements by now to even be affected by it. Any other person would think Castiel perhaps stand-offish, yet Dean knew that that was just how Castiel was. He was awkward, not too used to humanity other than Dean himself. Dean thought that that was why Castiel had fitted in so easily with being an outlaw; he was already outlawed from Heaven and from the little he’d said about the place, he hadn’t truly fitted in even there. Being an outlaw on Earth was a natural progression for him, and shooting people in the line of duty came more easily to one who smote without due provocation or wielded a flaming sword as easy as breathing in his former life. Dean wondered then if he was perhaps the only one that Castiel truly liked, and even whether he still had his flaming sword. He didn’t think it an appropriate time to ask about the sword however.

They started across the road, stepping forward onto the dusty pavement, before hands clamped down upon their shoulders, preventing them from walking further. A familiar London accent echoed in their ears as Crowley spoke.

“Hello, there, duckies. Fancy seeing you here,” he said, as he turned the outlaws known as Butch and Sundance around to face him forcefully. “I’m here to speak to a man about his dog.”

“We don’t know anything about dogs,” Dean growled back, face pinched with confusion.

“You don’t need to. I’m referring, of course, to the small matter of a bag of diamonds and emeralds I believe you owe me,” Crowley said.

“Even if we did have this bag that you spoke of, we certainly wouldn’t owe a thing to you,” Castiel said, intense blue gaze resting upon Crowley’s face. “Not any more.”

“Let’s walk and talk, shall we? I’m sure we can thrash something out between us. We’re all reasonable men,” Crowley said, as he pushed Dean and Castiel in the small of their backs.

“Maybe we are, but you sure as hell aren’t,” Dean snapped back, refusing to move.

“I don’t think now is the appropriate time to be bandying about insults, do you?” Crowley asked. “I do believe we have a score to settle, after all.”

“We’re not interested,” Dean said, gesturing for Castiel to back him up if need be. “Cas, I think you need to get Bobby.”

Castiel gave an imperceptible nod, but otherwise showed no other emotion. He disappeared in the blink of an eye, before Crowley could even stop him from disappearing. The vague impression of Castiel’s wings were the last thing he saw and Crowley’s angry shouts the last thing he heard before the world descended into painful, blinding darkness. The last thing he felt was the sharp blow had Crowley had rained on his head, before the world went dark completely.

~*~*~*~

The late afternoon sun beat down upon the town square, as Crowley tugged the noose around Dean’s neck. The outlaw otherwise known as Butch Winchester remained stoic and expressionless, chin raised defiantly as Crowley stepped away. A crowd was beginning to gather around the square, some curious as to what was happening, while still others were drawn to the event knowing that one of the infamous Butch and Sundance duo was about to be hung.

In the crowd stood Bobby, smart black suit at odds with the scuffed Stetson he wore. Dean recognized the hat as being Bobby’s favourite, the one he always wore. Dean could only assume that Castiel had managed to convince Bobby into attendance, despite the fact that neither Bobby nor Castiel had managed to talk Crowley down from attempting to hang Dean.

Dean scanned the crowd for sight of Castiel, yet could not see the familiar slender frame of his friend anywhere amongst the throngs. He shifted his feet, and felt the tug of the rope against his throat, closing his airway slightly until he moved back again. He had every faith in his friend that Castiel would save him, yet there was always the chance that Castiel wouldn’t get there in time. He heard Crowley’s boots strike the wooden flooring beneath their feet and the slight vibrations of the other man’s passing. He watched from the corner of his eye as Crowley gripped the lever that activated the mechanism for hanging him, before suddenly a flash of movement and bright lights coalescing beside Dean alerted him to the presence of another. Castiel stood close beside Dean, heat from his body baking through the sweat dampened fabric of Dean’s shirt.

Just as Crowley pulled the lever, Castiel’s arms flew out and grabbed Dean bodily around the waist, preventing him from being hung. The crowd roared with sudden disapproval, yet they were too late. Castiel was already pulling away and a lightning bolt arced from his hand to smite Crowley, sending him to his rightful place in Hell, Dean hoped.

Dean managed to get one look at Bobby’s exultant expression before wings flapping around his face and body announced the fact that Castiel was actually flying. It wasn’t often that the angel chose to fly, finding it too taxing on his already depleted angelic powers, yet now his wings beat proudly at the air, face glowing with the freedom of flight. He clung to Castiel’s waist, closing his eyes against the whipping wind and the height the flying angel attained. There was one thing that Dean despised and feared and that was flying.

Finally, they alighted far beyond the edge of town, whereupon Castiel freed Dean of the noose still trailing around his neck. Dean was left standing awkwardly, staring at Castiel and at the wings he had only now just seen for the first time. Every time he’d seen them before, they’d been shadowy impressions, inky black stains against the sky. Now they were properly feathered appendages, golden cream against the sun, utterly beautiful and devastating all at once.

“Your wings are showing, dude,” Dean said, finally, not knowing what else to say.

Castiel smiled and the setting sun behind him gave him the impression of a burnt-gold-bronze halo lighting up the air around his head, settling upon his hair and turning it ducky instead of dark. In a way, Castiel looked the angel that he was, beautiful, other-worldly, with an impossibly intense stare that Dean swore could see right inside his very soul.

“I guess that’s over, then,” Dean said. “Crowley’s gone and so is the last of the Hole in the Wall Gang.”

“Indeed. You are free to go wherever you wish, now, Butch Winchester,” Castiel told him, with a smile.

“Fine,” Dean said. “But where are you going to go? Heaven?”

“No. I am still as much an outlaw in Heaven as I am on Earth,” Castiel said. “I think I would do far better work here than there, somehow.”

“Better work? Robbing banks?” Dean asked, in the tone of voice that indicated that he thought Castiel was possibly crazy.

Castiel merely smiled at that before he said - “Perhaps I should rephrase that. I would rather stay by your side than return where I am not wanted.”

Dean stared at him for a few moments, before he nodded.

“Okay,” was all he said. “You’re wanted here.”

“I know,” Castiel replied, before falling silent again.

Dean shuffled his feet, and squinted up into the sky, before he spoke again, to relieve the awkward silence between them.

“So now what? Do we start anew? Gather together a new posse? You know I’m a posse magnet, right?” Dean asked, with a grin at the angel.

“I think you like to think you are, Dean,” Castiel replied, with the slightest of smiles. “Meanwhile, I think we are better off without posse of any kind.”

Dean had to laugh at that, before he draped one arm easily around Castiel’s shoulders. Castiel smiled slightly, his first proper little grin since Dean had known him. Dean’s hand tightened on the other man’s upper arm, before he spoke again.

“Don’t ever change, Cas,” he said, before angling the outlaw angel off, into the sunset, where new adventures awaited them both.

~~ the end ~~

**Author's Note:**

> Although it’s been at least twenty years since I actually watched Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid (and I was only roughly about 11 or 12 at the time), I still couldn’t resist the prompt. I didn’t want to stick too closely to the plot of the film, but hope that I’ve retained enough of the feel of it to do it justice. Also, scattered throughout the fic are references to various Supernatural episodes and also a mangled quote from “The Italian Job” just because it fitted.
> 
> Many, many thanks to my artist, alwaysawkward who's been an absolute pleasure to work with throughout this challenge. I am very glad I got the chance to work with her and to create a story around her art prompt, as it gave me the chance to write a genre I don't often get the chance to work in (I absolutely love cowboys! XD ). Seriously, go view her art post and leave her some love; her artwork's awesome and I love it.  
> Also many thanks to my friend Ali, who was very kind to read this story through before posting. I don't know where I'd be without her.  
> Thanks also go to the mods of spn_reversebang for running this challenge and for offering me the chance to pick up one of my first choices of art prompts before the pinch-hit post went live, after I faced dropping out entirely. I've enjoyed participating, as it's the first time I've ever signed up to do a reverse bang!


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